


Skeletons in the Closet

by thesinnerwiththedolphintattoo



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Relationships may be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-09-19 15:56:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9449108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesinnerwiththedolphintattoo/pseuds/thesinnerwiththedolphintattoo
Summary: Bro Strider dies and Dave suspects that there's something more going on with his death than what he is told. Obsessed with finding the truth, he neglects the other aspects of his life and searches for answers. Along the way he discovers more about his brother's mysterious life and answers to questions he never knew he had.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super excited about this because I've never written anything like it before.  
> As this progresses the tags will definitely change, as will the rating, most likely. If there is anything that could be triggering I will definitely tag it as well as mention it in the notes, because some of what I want to delve into in this fic isn't for everyone.  
> Basically I just reread Homestuck and I am inspired, to say the least, because I really love the Striders.

Dave felt like he was dreaming. Not a good dream, but one of those horrible fucked up nightmares that wasn’t even scary. One where he was forced along through the events that his mind created and he had to watch as he repeatedly fucked up everything as the feeling in his heart went beyond sinking— it was more like his heart was the titanic and the iceberg had just made him its bitch.

He couldn’t breathe and for the first time that he could remember, he was speechless. Dave Strider had no come-backs, no ironic metaphors to get out of control, no raps, no words.

In any other situation, John would’ve commented and poked fun at the fact that the intangible Strider, the master of words and maintaining his cool façade, appeared to have a weakness in his armor after all. Instead, John put an arm around his best friend’s shoulder and kept his mouth shut.

They stood in front of a casket, its surface littered with shitty .jpegs of horses and skateboarders, ironic drawings that most people would be unable to interpret as anything beyond scribbles and chicken scratch drawn in flashy and bright colors, and actual felt glued onto it in a half-assed way. John had even added some crudely drawn penises in bright orange along the side. It was horrendous, especially knowing what it had looked like before it was utterly defaced, but Dave knew that this was exactly how Bro would’ve wanted it. The crazy bastard wouldn’t have accepted going out in any other way than surrounded by his shitty, ironic interests and drawings of dicks that looked like the work of a middle-schooler. If it didn’t offend at least half of the people who were going to see it before it went into the ground, Bro wouldn’t want to be placed in it. Dave had also requested that the lining be made of the specific felt that Bro had used to make his smuppets, so that he’d be cuddled up and cozy with the memories of puppet ass to guide him through the afterlife.

The mortician had done his best to preserve Bro’s features as best as he could and he did a damn good job of it. His face was in the same stoic expression he never got rid of, the stupid anime sunglasses over his eyes making him look as if nothing had changed. His hair was styled in the way that he managed to pull off both the nonchalant movie star and “I don’t give a fuck about my appearance” looks.  If Dave hadn’t known better he might’ve been afraid that his brother would soon sit up and smirk, knowing that he’d fucked with everyone in a way that went beyond anything he’d done before. But Bro was gone, and Dave had to accept that and stop hoping that maybe Bro would come back as a ghost and fuck with them for the rest of their lives, like in one of John’s stupid movies. He was better than that— stronger than that.

Dave hated himself for not being able to keep his cool because he knew that Bro would’ve been disappointed, would’ve called him a baby and asked him how a baby managed to get a high school diploma and get into college and whether that baby was in the Guinness Book of World Records yet for being the smartest baby on the entire planet. This wasn’t like any other situation though, this was new and, if he was honest with himself, terrifying.

Never before had he been faced with grief of this magnitude, or even at all really. The fish that Bro had gotten him when he was 8 and then killed less than a week later when he was drunk and decided that the fish could loosen up a bit too, pouring beer into its bowl, didn’t really count. Plus, Dave thought it was kind of stupid anyway since it never did anything. The only other deaths he had really experienced were that of the crow that impaled itself on one of his swords and the death of Ben Stiller’s acting career, the latter being a much more emotional occasion. Where he was now was uncharted territory and he was as blind as Egbert without his glasses.

He tried not to cry because crying was silly and weak and Bro _never_ cried. He forced himself to hold back until the floodgates eventually crashed open and water was spilling over the edge of the bathtub because some idiot left the faucet on and then decided now would be a great time to go bang his wife.

Dave hated himself but he turned and wrapped his arms around John, burying his face in hi _s_ chest and sobbing quietly into his shirt. His shades were pushed up off the bridge of his nose and there was no stopping it. The water was soaking the rug outside of the bathtub but the idiot was still too busy porking his wife to give half a damn.

John let go of all reservations and wrapped his arms around Dave, pulling him close. Usually he’d worry that Dave would just push him off and tell him that he didn’t want, didn’t need, John’s pity, but John had never seen Dave crack like this before. All he knew was that his best friend needed him and that he’d be there for him no matter what.

Eventually the floodgates were prepared and Dave was able to compose himself, pushing his shades back onto his face and standing up straight, face as cool as if he hadn’t completely lost his shit there for a good two minutes. He tried not to think about how more people than John probably witnessed that, some who he would rather have not witnessed the leaning tower of Strider fall and break apart on the ground. He turned and saw Rose eyeing him rather worriedly from where she stood with Kanaya, but he pretended not to notice and made a mental note to avoid her for the rest of the year so that he wouldn’t have to deal with her psychoanalyzing bullshit.

He stayed by John for the rest of the viewing, making small conversation and laughing quietly amongst themselves at some of the guests. He felt calmer than before, but he couldn’t escape the uneasiness in his gut that something wasn’t right.


End file.
